


Things Fall Apart

by BlasphemousProphet



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: John is an idiot, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Post His Last Vow, Sherlock is sad, sherlock has the most supportive friends, sorting out problems
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-25
Updated: 2014-07-25
Packaged: 2018-02-10 10:33:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2021793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlasphemousProphet/pseuds/BlasphemousProphet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place after His Last Vow. The boys finally reconcile and hands are held.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things Fall Apart

“What are you thinking?” asked Mary from across the flat.   
John was wondering if Sherlock considered him a mystery he had solved or an experiment he had successfully catalogued. Did he bore Sherlock now that he was married and awaiting fatherhood? Why else would Sherlock avoid him? Sherlock had not spoken to him since they had said goodbye on the tarmac. Sherlock had gotten off the plane, into Mycroft’s car, avoiding John’s eyes, red faced, and disappeared from John’s life.  
“Nothing,” said John.   
“She’s kicking,” said Mary. “Want to feel it?” She placed a hand over her stomach and smiled at John.   
“I…need to go on a walk.”

“Sherlock, visitor,” Mrs. Hudson said, opening the door to 221B.   
“My god,” said Lestrade, surveying the place. Food and experiments were scattered everywhere and in the middle of it all was Sherlock lying on the couch in pajamas and a dressing gown, seven nicotine patches on his arms. “What in the bloody hell is going on with him?” he whispered to Mrs. Hudson.   
“John is gone. He’s probably lonely. Won’t you tell him to clean up the place?”   
“Sherlock,” said Lestrade.   
“Mmph.”  
“What happened? I would have thought you’d be glad to be back home.”  
Sherlock wordlessly shook his head.   
“John’s been calling me. He wants to speak to you but he says your phone is off.”  
“He isn’t wheelchair bound so there is nothing stopping him from coming here,” snapped Sherlock.   
“Maybe he’s just busy with-“  
“Don’t say her name,” barked Sherlock, abruptly sitting up.   
“Are you high?”  
Sherlock ignored this. He wobbled as he tried to pace.   
“She’s an assassin. You have to arrest her! Why aren’t they arresting her?”  
Lestrade kneeled by Sherlock’s side when Sherlock toppled onto the floor.   
“Are you alright?” he asked Sherlock softly.   
Sherlock pulled Lestrade’s face towards his and attempted to kiss him.   
“What the hell, Sherlock? Is this about John?”  
Sherlock blinked a few times.   
“Look, if that is morse code or something equally irrelevant, can you just spell it out for me?”  
Sherlock rose and found his way to his room, slamming the door behind him. Lestrade placed his hand to his lips, shook his head and left.   
“I’ll be back!” he yelled to Sherlock. 

“Sherlock?”  
Molly was standing in the entrance to Sherlock’s room, letting in tiny crack of light that stabbed Sherlock’s eyes.  
“Greg said you might need some…company. He said you had a…hard night.”  
“Molly?” said Sherlock in a muffled voice.  
“Would you like some tea?”  
Sherlock rose and kicked off his covers, rising to his full height. Sherlock ran to the bathroom and Molly pretended she couldn’t hear Sherlock vomiting.  
“Thank you for coming,” said Sherlock formally.   
“Sherlock. Look at me. What’s gone wrong?”  
Sherlock was unable to meet Molly’s eyes.   
“I should have died at Barts,” he mumbled. “This isn’t my life anymore.”  
“Don’t say that, Sherlock! Everyone is happy to see you back. Mycroft, John, Lestrade…”  
Molly’s hand covered Sherlock’s and they sat there in silence for a while, listening to the sounds of nothing while Molly let Sherlock grieve for the old days.

John had gained seven pounds since his wedding. He could hardly see Sherlock like this. Sherlock would notice in a second and Sherlock was always mocking Mycroft for being fat. John wondered what Sherlock was doing. John wondered what Sherlock was thinking.  
“Hello?”  
“John.”  
“Mycroft?”  
“Where are you?”  
“At home. Why?”  
“Go see Sherlock.”  
“Why?”  
“It’s a danger night.”  
“Send him out on a case.”  
“John, he’s refused to take any cases since the wedding.”  
“How do you know tonight’s a danger night?”  
Mycroft’s patience was wearing thin.   
“Every night is a danger night since the wedding, John. But must I remind you that he is in possession of a gun and heroin despite my best efforts to dispose of them and that he is prone to rash decision making?”  
John was silent.   
“Now will you be there or not?”  
“Of course I’ll be there,” said John in a small voice.  
“Good.”  
“Mycroft?”  
“Yes?”  
“Is he…mad at me?”  
“My brother, angry at you? John Watson, you truly must not know him at all to ask such a thing.”  
Mycroft hung up and John rushed into the nearest cab.   
“You’re going to see him now?” John could hear Mary calling him. 

John burst into 221B without knocking. “Sherlock! Sherlock, where are you?” he yelled. He searched the apartment, panting and panicking.   
I’m here. SH  
“Where are you?” John yelled.  
Roof. SH  
Sherlock’s hair was lit like a halo in the setting sun. His eyes were glassy and unfocused as he swung his legs over the ledge where he sat.   
“You idiot!” yelled John. “Why haven’t you called or texted or…”   
John stopped, exhausted and sunk to his knees next to Sherlock.   
“Mycroft told me you haven’t been solving any cases.”  
“I’m lost without my blogger,” murmured Sherlock, looking straight ahead.   
“I’m right here, Sherlock. I haven’t gone anywhere.”  
“You’ve gained seven pounds. Marriage suits you.”  
“No, I…”  
“It’s…you look nice. I like it.”  
“Thank you,” said John quietly.   
“Now I know why emotion is reserved for the losing side,” Sherlock said. “I’m incapacitated.”  
“What do you mean?”  
Sherlock glanced at John. John’s fingers were clenched into shaking fists. Sherlock took a fist into his hand and smoothed it out.   
John abruptly flung his arms around Sherlock. “How could you…don’t do this. You have to promise me you won’t ever do this again.”  
Sherlock gave a barely imperceptible shake of the head.   
“There’s a time to die for everyone.”  
“Not for you! You’ll outlive God. You outlived yourself!”  
“I overstayed my welcome. I should have died at Barts.”  
John’s grip tightened.   
“This isn’t my life anymore. Or if it is, I don’t want it.”  
“You have to promise me…”  
“John. I can’t.”  
“What is so wrong, Sherlock? You can tell me.”  
“It’s…not my life without you in it,” Sherlock whispered.  
“I miss you too,” said John.   
“Come home,” said Sherlock.   
John was silent.   
Sherlock let the bottle of scotch he was holding fall out of his hands, gracefully arching past 221B and crashing in a brown puddle on the ground.   
“Sherlock!”  
“I waited until no one was there!”  
Sherlock bit his lip. “How could you do this to me, John? I was fine before I met you. I was FINE. And you made me into this. And then you left!”  
“You left first, Sherlock.”  
“Do you think I enjoyed being dead? Being homeless for days on end, tortured by the Russian mafia, eating whatever scraps I could find? You saw the scars on my back in the hospital! You know how I got them. I never wanted to leave. I didn’t have a choice. But you…”  
“I’m sorry,” said John.   
As soon as John apologized Sherlock crumpled, lowering his body onto the roof and lying down. John followed suit.   
“I’m a mess,” said Sherlock.   
“So am I.”  
“Usually I make messes and other people clean them up. Now I am the mess and no one can get rid of me.”  
“You know that isn’t true,” said John.   
John’s hand found Sherlock’s and held it tightly.   
“I loved you so much,” said John. “You were my world. I worshipped the ground you walked on. But then Barts happened. I promised myself if you were to come back I would stop loving you, be just a friend, accept you for who you are. It wasn’t safe for me to love you this much.”  
“So you stopped?”  
“I’m trying to.”  
“And now you have Mary. And a child.”  
“Sherlock, can you promise me you won’t ever do anything like this again?”  
Sherlock shrugged his shoulders. “What would be the point? I’m already dead to you.”  
“Sherlock. Look at me. You were never dead to me. I saw your face everywhere I went. I heard your voice in my head with every step I made. To me, you never left.”  
Suddenly Sherlock was kissing John. John could feel Sherlock’s wet eyelashes against his face. He could smell the alcohol on Sherlock’s breath. He could wrap his arms around Sherlock’s beautiful coat. He could put his arms inside Sherlock’s beautiful coat. He could ruffle Sherlock’s hair. He could kiss every scar Sherlock had.   
They were both breathless when the kiss ended.   
“Would it make matters so much worse if I told you I loved you?” asked Sherlock.  
John kissed him again.   
“I love you too,” said John. Sherlock’s face flushed beautifully, his eyes widening.  
“Can you come home now?” asked Sherlock.   
“I’m already home,” said John.   
“I promise.”  
“What?”  
“I’ll never do anything like…that again.”  
“Thank you, Sherlock.”  
“Mmm.”  
John lay next to Sherlock, their hands still entwined, looking at the stars. John rubbed his eyes and found them teary.   
“John?” muttered Sherlock.   
“Hmm?”  
“What’s the matter?”  
“I’m just happy,” said John.   
THE END


End file.
